This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO

3,2,1, 0... WAR ANIMALS (1 million dead Blogswarm)

'3' Civil War (March 19th, 2006)

I have traveled to the edge of Iraq
And peered over.

She panted treacherously.

It is not strange coming out of
The stifled mouth of national war.
It is not easily uttered, these
Words of internal detonations.
It is not compliant, this laceration
Of autonomy `gainst thy neighbor.

She beseeched the air.

I have traveled to the edge of Iraq
And peered over.

Lunged of war.


'2' Your Escape of it (March 19th, 2006)

The nattering jaws are a hearse of warring wits
And within their dry swamp thunders denial
They’re dropping the bombs!
They’re lobbing grenades!
They’re devouring in sneering laughter
And consuming with their cynical smiles

These, our leaders, and their most pestilent flesh
Now harvesting souls for kingdoms sport
They’re dropping the bombs!
They’re lobbing grenades!
They’re exterminating in sinister heart
And demolishing the spirit’s sweet core

We the listless are ingesting trepidation in this
And within our quagmire torment subsists
They’re encasing the bombs!
They’re staining our waters!
They’re transporting terror of a false god
And detesting our darling independence

The feint Iraqi peoples, an urn of absorbed ash
And within the ferried grief crashes internal war
You’re dropping the bombs!
You’re lobbing death’s den!
You’re lancing our prospects in tyranny
And you shall escape us ahead of our end


'1' Coursing Upward (March 19th, 2007)

This country needs the truth to be spoken.
Have a reunion with an unwavering light
To chart, ride, and calculate deceptions heavy barbs,
Sustenance weighed for worth and certainty.

We need pledge our suspicion on the breath of man
Prepared to open his lips and cough up
America’s latest shadowy, myth-soiled account.
We need pale all the ears of our streets with hesitation,

With exactness snatched between the rational mind and fear.
Power seeks out the holes in our doubt
And patches them with dread
So good men shiver at their own shadow.

I’m not afraid to pen my doubt upon the screen,
The virtual pages of our present language,
Of man’s bowed and busted logic
Coursing upward, seeking the flesh of truth.


'0' War Animals (March 19th, 2008)

Would I hold my hand thus if I were such a murderous beast?
Asked the wolf…
Would I be thought a monster like you if I howled in horror?
Asked the sheep…
I howl for pleasure, little sheep! I consume to nourish my sorrow!
Scolded the wolf…
I do not mean to offend your howling or persuade your hunger, sir.
Prayed the sheep….
See my opposing thumb and how it can bring me such pleasure?
Inquired the wolf…
See my shivering hooves and how they frustrate me significantly?
Echoed the sheep…

The wind now wails its bitter speech as the wolf skulks nearer.

Come! Let us sit next to one another and we shall drink a toast.
Said the wolf…
I shouldn’t. It’s not right to do so while so many continue to perish.
Replied the sheep…
Thou art afraid of me, dam? Me? A creature with such manners?
Crooned the wolf…
No. I- I- I just don’t think it appropriate to toast on this- of all days.
Answered the sheep…
But this is a day of triumph! Today’s the best day to drink to victory!
Howled the wolf…
There you go again with the howling? I told you my lambs are sleeping.
Whispered the sheep…

The wind abruptly strengthens with the crow of murderous night.

Yes. Please forgive me, sheep…. …Your lambkins are precious to you?
Posed the wolf…
All babies are precious, wolf. Are yours not precious to you?
Raised the sheep…
Of course they’re precious! I would, without a doubt, kill for them!
Charged the wolf…
Of that I’m sure. But haven’t I asked you to keep your voice down?
Sighed the sheep…
Yes. But aren’t you sufficiently fearful of offending me, little ewe?
Urged the wolf…
I have not offended you, wolf. It is you that will not do as I’ve asked.
Rejoined the sheep…

The wolf now howls with a beast’s bloody bravado!

I do not believe this- Before me is a sheep that’s utterly lacking in fear?
Marveled the wolf…
I’ve fear enough. It is your opposing thumbs that are rigid with terror.
Said the sheep.

The wind stops its screeching and the sheep suckles her babies.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

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